


It Isn't Even Spring

by jat_sapphire



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Episode: s02e06 Rogue, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 07:05:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18256232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jat_sapphire/pseuds/jat_sapphire
Summary: How can Ray Doyle have spring fever when it isn't even spring?





	It Isn't Even Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Not a songfic, though I'll share the Sarah Vaughn ["It Might as Well Be Spring" video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g1VEifmf9Uw) anyway. (Also with Miles Davis.) I was thinking of it while I wrote this, and then ... I hardly ever write H/C. Imagine my surprise!

"Get out!" They heard the bedside alarm clock smash against the door as they closed it and half-ran down the hall. Cowley made them into schoolboys, not that Bodie minded when he could see Doyle silly and playful like this. They laughed over their shoulders and in the lift, though they'd both sobered by the time they were in the car park.

"We should bring another bottle," Bodie said ruefully.

"In a wrapper clearly marked 'Whiskey,'" Doyle said with a small grin.

The day, like so many this November, was bright and clear and mild. It felt almost like May, but with falling leaves instead of budding flowers.

Bodie had the gold Capri, and Doyle was in the passenger seat, but he seemed unable to settle. His leg jiggled, his hands fidgeted, he put his sunglasses on and took them off, looking around as if he thought they were being followed.

At last, Bodie said, "Cool it, Ray."

"Can't," Doyle answered apologetically. "It's ... a whole flock of geese walking over my grave. Like I can't trust meself."

"Go down the pub? Pull a bird? Enough of a raver, she'll ..."

"Nah. Not good company tonight."

"Are you ever?" Bodie spoke facetiously but Doyle sent a hard look his way. Bodie wasn't having that. "C'mon, Ray. Play some squash, wear yourself out that way?"

"With your shoulder?" But he must have seen Bodie's grimace, or remembered how he hated fuss or pity. "I'll wipe the court with you." That sounded more like their normal talk.

"Quid says you don't." Bodie knew Doyle wouldn't take a decent-sized bet.

But the first volley sent a spike of pain through his shoulder--worse than the knife strike, in fact--and Doyle stopped dead, seeing the flinch. The ball hit the wall, then the opposite wall, then the first again, near the floor, and rolled. Doyle was at Bodie's side by that time, one hand on his back and the other cradling his elbow, scolding, "You big dumb lout, what did I tell you? Hold on, hold on, all right, sit down." Doyle guided Bodie's slide down the wall to a seated position and pulled the shirt collar open to see in where the bandage was. "Shit," he hissed. "Bodie, you're bleeding." Bodie heard the guilt, and saw it too, in the way Doyle frowned, and felt it in the fingertips just touching below the bandage. The whole shoulder felt sensitised: the burning wound, the tug of the bandage, heavy with blood, three fingertips stroking slightly. 

Doyle met Bodie's eyes.

It was an odd moment, and Bodie wanted to say something to defuse Doyle's guilt, but he didn't know what. They gazed until their breathing evened. "You should go right back to hospital, or at least urgent care," Doyle said at last.

"No," Bodie said on instinct, "just take me home. I'll take the pills and rest."

"Should've done to start with," Doyle grumbled, but he helped Bodie up gently and steadied him as they left the court. Bodie changed his shoes, but just brought the rest of his clothes with him in his holdall. Ray shifted his own togs with his usual quicksilver speed. Bodie watched, appreciating the smooth movements, so unlike the jumpiness earlier. Doyle eased up Bodie's jacket, pulled on his own, and they were ready to go.

When they reached Bodie's flat, Doyle parked and opened the passenger door for Bodie to get out, then followed a half-step too close, one stair riser away, as if he thought Bodie might collapse going up to the bloody _first floor_ for God's sake. When they were in the lounge, Doyle grabbed Bodie's left arm as he began to sink into the sofa. "Shirt. Off." He meant business, by the lowered eyebrows and set mouth.

Bodie rolled his eyes. "You're a doctor now?"

"'M seein' those stitches, any rate."

The truth was, Bodie didn't want to try raising his arms. "Cut it off?" he joked.

"If I must, you berk."

A pang in his shoulder and a sudden wave of exhaustion made Bodie close his eyes and say too softly, "If you must." He felt himself pulled down and pressed back in the cushions, Doyle's hands deft if not entirely sure, a little unsteady as if that strange restlessness was still in him.

"I will, you know," Doyle warned.

Bodie just nodded, holding his mouth shut and knowing he was for it, or rather his shirt was. He felt Doyle's weight shift, then leave the sofa, heard his footsteps, clattering in the kitchen. It took longer than Bodie expected.

Eventually the steps came back. Bodie just sat without opening his eyes, even when he heard and felt the snips of the kitchen shears in his poor shirt collar. "Not the Swiss army knife?" he tried to joke.

"No," Doyle said, not joking back, and then hissed as he pulled the cloth away. Next was the surgical tape holding the gauze dressing. As careful as Doyle was, removing it still pulled and stung. "You're a mess, sunshine." His voice was still not light enough for a joke. A pad pressed and wiped, and Bodie tried to hold still. "Stitches didn't pull out, anyway, but ..." Ray's voice had grown rougher as he spoke, and then he just stopped speaking.

Bodie opened his eyes, but Doyle had closed his now, his chin up and his teeth obviously clenched.

"Ah, Ray."

Doyle opened his eyes, and they were damp and burning. "I didn't shoot, Bodie."

What could Bodie say? "I know." He hoped Doyle didn't hear anger, disappointment, or anything else Bodie didn't feel.

"I wondered ..." Doyle wiped at his eyes with the back of his wrist, looking to the side, and half laughed. "Barry was always on about that psychological advantage of his, wasn't he? D'you think he was trying-- _grooming_ us? 'Cause he knew it'd likely be us, if Cowley ever found out, it'd be us he sent after 'im? Why he threw the knife at you, 'cause he knew I was ..." Doyle gulped but went on hoarsely, "the weaker link?"

"Nothing weak about you, mate."

Doyle took a quick, deep breath and one end of his mouth quirked a little. "Glad you think so."

"I do. I know it, Ray."

Doyle took another quick breath and huffed it out. Bodie had understood, or would have if he'd thought it over, that his physical wound was not much next to the pain of betrayal that Ray was enduring, but what could Bodie do? He had to do something. In a moment, Doyle would pull himself together, rebandage the knife wound, and they'd both have to pretend nothing but ordinary partnering behaviour had happened here.

The old "ordinary" wasn't what Bodie wanted.

"Ray," he said, because he owed Doyle a warning even if it was only this second before he reached with his good arm, grabbed the back of Ray's neck with a handful of curls, and pulled him into a kiss. Nothing heavy, at least at first, but Ray's lips parted in astonishment and Bodie fell in.

The next he knew, Ray was straddling him and holding Bodie's face in both hands while blood from the wound smeared Doyle's shirt. And they were still kissing in a gentle, yearning way. Bodie wondered how much of this sweetness was Ray's guilt.

The moment he moved his head back, Doyle stopped--got to his feet, in fact, looking almost panicked. Bodie captured a wrist before his partner could escape.

"Ray," he said again, hoping all his feeling was in his voice. "Don't go."

Doyle stared, his face full of shifting expressions, but Bodie wasn't sure exactly which emotions they showed, so he didn't loosen his grip.

"Your gauze dressing," Doyle said in a voice that also seemed full of mixed feelings.

"No hurry," Bodie said, smiling.

"You just want to put off having the iodine."

Bodie winced in anticipation. "Use the other antiseptic, the cream. Please, Ray."

"Big baby."

Bodie thought of saying, _Just kiss it better,_ but he didn't want Ray's lips there. He could think of so many better places. "C'mon, do the dressing, and we can go back to more interesting things." He smiled; it should have been sultry.

It was hard to believe that anyone else could have as sultry a smile as Ray Doyle. Especially now. It faded as he bent to redoing the dressing, but flickered across his mouth as he worked, and Bodie shifted in his seat as his cock took notice. That made Ray smile more. "Randy bugger," he said as he put the last tape on and smoothed the finished product. "You know you need to take the pills. Tea's been stewing."

"So _that's_ what you were doing in the kitchen."

Ray sat on Bodie's left, pulled him sideways, and kissed him, slowly, thoroughly, with intent. "Mm," they said into each other's mouths, not at the same time but over and over, finding taste and soft wetness that dazed them both with desire. "Pills," Ray said at length, sounding drugged himself.

"Don' need 'em," Bodie insisted. "Need you."

"Tell you what. Suck you off, then you take the pills, lie down and kip. Yeah?"

"Now there's a plan."

Ray knelt on the floor, unzipped Bodie's trousers, pulled out the prick and got right to work.

Head back, shoulders pressing the back of the sofa, hips shifting and thrusting beyond his control, Bodie flew while those clever lips played him like a flute. He didn't even feel his shoulder. Claire had been his standard for cock-sucking, but Ray was just as good, as well as having a bigger, deeper mouth and a stronger grip on Bodie's hips, so he could let go without having to worry about hurting ... "Ray! Uh! Christ!" The movement of Ray's throat as he swallowed made Bodie give one last spurt.

Every part of Bodie was as limp as cooked noodles. _Spag Bodie._ He couldn't even smile at the thought. Breathing was all he could manage. He felt curls against his thigh where Doyle's head rested.

Eventually, Bodie cleared his throat, and that made a normal sound, so he tried speaking. "Ray," he said. "You OK?"

"Came in me trousers like a kid." Doyle's voice was rueful. "How didn't we know we could have this?"

"Dunno." Bodie reached for Doyle's head, tangled fingertips in the mess of curls. "Didn't have the bottle to ask, I suppose."

"Still didn't ask, pillock." 

"You said yes anyway."

"Oh, I did. Thank God." Bodie felt the brush of Doyle's stubble as he turned his head, then a kiss on the inside of his upper leg, and then Doyle got up. "Tea. And pills. And bed."

Bodie stared at the wet spot on Ray's crotch. "Bed, eh?"

"Sleep. If you're not knackered, _I_ am."

Doyle brought the pills and the tea (now only lukewarm), helped Bodie get out of his disheveled and destroyed clothing, and bundled him into bed. Then he took off his own clothes unselfconsciously and slid under the covers. "Ray?" Bodie said, and Doyle immediately rolled toward him and held him close, kissed him until both of them were yawning, and got Bodie's head on that bony shoulder. They lay as quietly as seeds in a pod, not a twitch or a wriggle between them.

Bodie dreamed he was in one of those time-lapse films of plants turning and growing, leaves uncurling. He thought he smelled the fresh Spring air. Waking in the morning sunlight, his nose was in Ray's curls, which smelled as good as the breeze in his dream, and Ray lay quietly in his arms as if they'd grown together. Which, Bodie decided, they had. Barry hadn't cut them back, he'd cut them free.


End file.
